The big bang theory of personal finance

It is hard these days to avoid an airing of The Big Bang Theory. The immensely successful situation comedy pulls in huge ratings for CBS in its Thursday time slot, but more importantly, it has been syndicated and now features as a staple of multiple cable channels, sometimes airing several times per evening. I don’t mind the show; in fact, I kind of like it, though with such frequent exposure, sometimes it’s hard to tell if I really like it or if I’m suffering from a TV version of Stockholm Syndrome. Of course, I could change the channel or just turn off the television, but I watch TV when dining at home…so it goes.

The show takes a Los Angeles cliché and adds a little twist: two incredibly nerdy Cal Tech physicists live across the hall from a bombshell neighbor who works as a waitress while harboring aspirations of breaking into show business. Around this simple premise the show’s creators have sprinkled in the pixie dust that draws in viewers: heaping helpings of nerd sub-culture and an unlikely romance between our blonde bombshell and one of her physicist neighbors. Thus, the show taps into a demographic that has yielded incredibly fanatical followings (Star Trek, Apple computers), as well as involving the tried-and-true formula of a long-term, on-again-off-again romance (call it the ‘Sam and Diane’).

Unlike Cheers, however, The Big Bang Theory’s primary setting is home, not work (although there are plenty of visits to The Cheesecake Factory and the Physics Department). Because so much of the show occurs in the domestic setting, we learn a lot of detail about the main characters, and as with anybody, money plays a big part of the characters’ concerns and actions. Unfortunately, you learn not to press too vigorously against the show’s premises, because once you begin examining the personal finances of the main characters, suspending disbelief becomes all but impossible.

For instance, as young (around 30 years of age) Cal Tech physicists, the Leonard and Sheldon characters can expect to make collectively anywhere between $125,000 and $200,000 per year. On the other hand, Penny, our aspiring actress, can expect to earn anywhere from $15,000 to $20,000 a year as a waitress (California’s minimum wage is $8 per hour). She is portrayed on the show as a “community college dropout” and often borrows money from across the hall. In one episode, her monthly debts to Leonard totaled over $1,400, roughly equal to one month’s income. The itemized list of debts suggested that her rent was the lion’s share of that total; for argument’s sake, let’s say $1,300, which would be a steal for a nice one-bedroom apartment in Pasadena (according to Apartmentratings.com, such an apartment goes for between $1,706 and $2,464). It doesn’t take long to understand that the math doesn’t add up.

Given the show’s large viewership, I’m sure such an observation is not new; however, what interests me here is how such a portrayal of reality might actually be driving the show’s audience. To any member of the Millennial Generation – that is, 20-somethings who have had a very difficult time finding employment and who often carry crushing student loan debts – the life of Penny must immediately strike them as a fairy tale. No roommate, no real job prospects, no problem. Unless the Penny character is receiving aid from her parents or has a large trust fund, her life in Pasadena, as portrayed, simply isn’t possible. Maybe the fairy-tale aspect appeals to a generation of people who find that, after enjoying the increasingly resort-like existence of the university, they all too often have to move back in with their long-suffering parents.

Furthermore, when you begin to parse the ratings data for The Big Bang Theory, you begin to suspect that the fantasy isn’t exclusively (or even predominantly) for Millennials. The Big Bang Theory’s early March ratings garnered a 9.7 share in overall households and a 6.1 share in the 25-54 age bracket; however, as you progressively hone in on younger viewers, the audience dwindles – the show received only a 3.1 share among 18- to 34-year-olds. Now there are a lot of explanations for this. Perhaps young adults watch less TV, or perhaps the audience is far more fractured than older audiences and more apt to watch content on mobile devices, computers, etc. Also, CBS traditionally does better among an older demographic. But, just maybe, Millennials find the show less relevant to life as they know it, particularly after the hard post-college lessons many have had to learn. Maybe it’s the older demographic that is really driving the show’s ratings.

After all, there is a comforting kind of nostalgia baked into the premise of The Big Bang Theory. For a generation raised on Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club, the notion that a successful knowledge-worker (as we called them today) can hook up with the prom queen college dropout is familiar and speaks to the subversion of class identity that was a staple of John Hughes films.

The reality, however, is that Americans who have advanced degrees increasingly seek out each other as mates. The fictions of our youth might have steered the good girls to the bad boys, or the jocks to the plain Janes, but there would appear to be far more deterministic forces at work in the real world, and as often as not, those forces are guided by factors that privilege education and income over most else. Perhaps it’s part and parcel of a world where people with similar political convictions are increasingly neighbors and parishioners, or perhaps it’s aided by the cyborg-like intelligence we tap into on dating websites in order to find the “perfect” partner.

Whatever the answer, I suspect folks will continue tuning in to The Big Bang Theory, but despite the Comic-Con and video-game references, it might not be the folks you would think.